Habib

Over the weekend Habib got off a Brisbane train and slowly walked to the cab sucking on a cigarette whilst eyeballing me. I was playing with the phone but had seen him approach, a big bloke in grubby trackies with a sports bag over the shoulder.

From the back seat he thrust a crisp $100 bill at me, despite my protestations. “Take it, bro, take it. It’s a big job for you. Four stops.” I stuck it on the dash and headed for the south-western suburbs.

On the way he proceeded to make a series of phone calls to organise meetings. “I’m in a cab, bro. Yeah, where we met last time. Ten minutes, tops.” At times he broke into loud, abrasive Arabic, only to apologise after the call, “Sorry, bro. Some of these dickheads can’t speak English.”...

The first stop had me double-parked outside a convenience store in Fairfield. “I’m leaving my bag here, bro, I’ll be two minutes.”Before long he quickly returned carrying a white shopping bag tied at the top.

Nearby in a back street I pulled in behind a Subaru WRX and he got out and joined the waiting occupants, for two minutes. In the next suburb there was another vehicle rendezvous so I returned to reading online software reviews. Much safer than watching them, I figured.

Back in the cab he fielded constant calls from a 21 year old girlfriend in his home town. I could hear her complaining for leaving her, or some such grief. “It’s only 24 hours,” he explained. “Baby, you know I got to do this. Yes, I’ll be back in time for work. Later.” Then cursed her.

Between calls he told how his family operated a small farm growing vegetables and citrus trees. How he planned on marrying the girl but she was already a ‘pain in the neck’. Little wonder he talked to her in such a rough and disinterested manner, yet answered her every call. Young rural love.

The visit to Sydney, where he grew up, was to pay some buddies for smash repair work they were doing on his car. At one point I could hear the rapid, sharp shuffle of bank notes, and mumbling as he counted out the denominations. “Cash is king,” he announced when done.

In the fading light we finally arrived at a shabby highway motel advertising half-day rates. By the look of the joint it probably did hourly rates, too. “It’s full of hookers and flea bags,” he said with disgust.

Upon departing he handed over an extra twenty five bucks and offered me a reverse, left-handed shake. Then he slowly ambled away, checking the car park and fastening a bum bag around his waist, before disappearing through a passageway.

It was then I realised he was missing something and turned to check the back seat. The sports bag and shopping bag had disappeared.

Comments

[Brian]

Book im Daniel.

[south coast cabbie]

i thought only new drivers worked central rank,that one must have been the best fare ever from there.

[Torsten]

I recommend sharing taxis especially to the airport. Try coseats.com !

[George]

Lesson for cabbies. if you see cabs regularly queuing somewhere, chances are there is some reward to be had.The steam rank has some pleasant surprises!